Once I was away from the school instead of being there twenty-four-seven, I could shut my brain down. I could study in the shop while he worked. The buzzing in the background was surprisingly soothing. I could be in bed waiting for him when he had a late night, and he could stay up and watch movies with me when I had a cram session. Plus, I adored his home, our home. It was unique and so very him. Edgy, but with lots of soft nooks and crannies to hide away in. His art decorated the walls. His outlet to quiet his restless mind was still the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. It was also nice I didn’t have to worry about running into my roommate’s naked boyfriend coming out of the bathroom anymore. The only naked boyfriend I ran into was my own, but that was just fine with me. I couldn’t get enough of him and never turned down an opportunity to get my hands on his nakedness. It was so much better to be anchored to him than floating away from him.
He rubbed his forehead with his forearm and looked at the twisted metal and glass clock that hung on the wall. “Give me a half hour, and I’ll be over to congratulate you properly. I’m so fucking proud of you, Reed.” He smirked at me as his client shifted uncomfortably in front of him. She was caught in the middle of an intimate moment and she knew it. Luckily, she had enough tact to let us speak without words for a minute. Finally, he cleared his throat and told me, “Can’t wait to call you Doctor Reed. That’s gonna be hot as fuck.”
I tossed back my head and laughed. I was still a long way away from earning that title in front of my name, but my acceptance into the graduate program was one step closer. I was almost there. I was going to have a Ph.D., eventually, and he could call me Doctor Reed along with everyone else I planned on helping.
I dropped a kiss on his mouth as he lifted his head toward me. He asked his client if she was ready to finish and when she gave a stiff nod, he asked me to put his headphones back on his head so he could finish up. I complied and wished the girl good luck before practically skipping back through the shop. Van stopped me for a hug before I hit the front doors and I happily returned it. I texted my dad and Jordan the good news as I bounced next door to the converted space I called home.
Dad was still traveling. He’d convinced Cable and me to spend a week with him at the Grand Canyon. I thought Cable was going to hate being cooped up in the tin can my dad called home, but he loved it. We were supposed to meet up with him again at the end of summer when he planned on driving down through Baja. Cable wanted to go surfing, and I wasn’t going to pass up time with my dad or his new girlfriend. He met a fellow wanderer in the Badlands of Utah. She was a lady biker named Bianca, and I liked her a whole lot. She put her bike on a trailer behind my dad’s RV and never looked back. She was good for him and came from a well-off place. She didn’t have the kind of money Cable’s family did, but she married well and divorced even better, so I no longer worried about my dad running out of funds and getting stranded somewhere.
Jordan was six months pregnant. The guy from Austin, the one who wouldn’t let her chase my attacker alone that night on the beach, had been serious about getting to know her and starting something up. He pestered her until she gave him a chance. Turned out he was a firefighter, a true hero type. He proved to be impossible for her to resist. She got engaged before she was twenty-one and now had a baby on the way. She couldn’t be any happier. We still talked at least once a week, and Cable and I had gone back to Loveless for the wedding. I was her maid of honor.
I also texted Melanie McCaffrey. She still wasn’t my favorite person on the planet, but we both loved her son, so we forced ourselves to find common ground. She checked in frequently to see how he was doing and, surprisingly, to see how I was doing. She wanted what was best for him, and since he decided that was me, she did her best to play nice. She still worried about him. We’d both gotten used to her showing up unannounced, but neither of us ever asked her to leave. She had started dating one of the lawyers she’d hired to represent Cable all those years ago, so she seemed less miserable than she had when we first got together. It didn’t hurt that Cable’s father was in the middle of an ugly paternity suit with two different women. He was making headlines in Loveless that were far more inflammatory than the ones Cable had been a part of.
Melanie frequently asked me probing questions about his sobriety and the handle he had on it. I always told her he was working on it because that was the truth. He slipped up now and again. He still smoked like a chimney and enjoyed whiskey on the weekends. He never overindulged and kept himself to a firm two-drink limit. It wasn’t something I encouraged because I knew how easy it was for those two drinks to turn into four or five, but I didn’t fight with him about it either. I trusted him, and as long as he was honest with me about how he was doing, I believed in the limits he set for himself. I trusted him not to cross them. Milo was a bit of a stoner, and there were days Cable came home smelling like weed. I knew it wasn’t simply from being in the same shop as his friend. He was always truthful when I asked him if he’d been using and he always agreed to talk to Doc Howard about it if I asked him to. Cable had a therapist here in San Francisco he saw a couple times a month, but he still checked in with the man who originally gave him a safe place to address his feelings. Doc Howard had even come to California for a visit. He and Cable met up in San Diego for a weekend of surfing. The line between patient and friend had blurred at this point, but it didn’t matter. Cable was comfortable with the older man, and it was apparent Doc Howard had a soft spot for my boy, as well.
Occasional indulgence wasn’t healthy for an addict, we both knew that, but as long as he addressed it, as long as he kept trying, I supported him. He knew my story, and he knew I refused to have another ending like the one I had with my mom. I trusted him to never put me in that position again. He knew I wouldn’t love an addict again, but I had no trouble giving my heart to a recovering one for as long as the recovery lasted.
I flew through the front door and stopped to pet the white and gray fluff ball of a kitten Cable had gotten me for our last anniversary. He called the little cat Razor because of his claws and the way he tended to sink them into any unsuspecting toes that happened by. I called him Sweetheart because he was so fluffy and adorable. I loved the little guy almost as much as the man who got him for me. Cable told me it was good practice for when we had kids. I laughed it off, but it was something we’d talked about.
Our future was together. However that looked. He wasn’t a huge fan of marriage considering how his parents had ended up, but he did want to start a family somewhere down the road. He had grown increasingly close with his half-sisters over the last few years and was amazingly good with them. It didn’t surprise me that he wanted kids, but I was a little shocked at how open and honest he was about his concerns that when we reached that point, he would end up passing along some of his less desirable traits to his child. I couldn’t tell him not to worry. Depression was partly influenced by genetics, but I assured him any kid of ours would have two parents who understood what they were struggling with. We would recognize and address it before it overtook their entire life the way Cable’s had. It was a war we knew how to prepare for and one we knew how to win.
For now, we had a ridiculously cute kitten and stupid amounts of sex as we enjoyed being together and building a life together. I couldn’t find much to complain about on any given day, even when it was a day Cable slipped up or disappeared inside his own head. As long as he was screwing up or struggling somewhere close by, I was happy and always willing to help in whatever way I could.
Distracted by the kitten, I tripped into the kitchen in search of that celebratory drink a little early. We never kept any hard liquor in the house, but Cable always had a six-pack in the fridge for when Milo dropped by to watch football or shoot the shit, and I usually had a bottle of white wine somewhere for really rough days after class. Sometimes learning was hard.
I jolted to a stop when I saw the cool, pressed concrete counter of the kitchen island covered with an array of flower bouquets. The
re were at least twenty of them in all shapes, sizes, and colors. They were vivid and breathtaking. I had no idea how I missed the glorious, floral scent filling up the space when I walked in. There was a teddy bear dressed like Sigmund Freud with a giant balloon that had CONGRATULATIONS written across it in bright script. There was also a silver bucket amidst the flowers that had a very expensive bottle of champagne sticking out of it. I put a shaking hand over my mouth and took it all in.
I heard the kitten meow and Cable’s low voice mutter something to him as his sneakers squeaked across the floor. I looked over my shoulder at him as he approached. His brown eyes were deep and dark with emotion, and all I wanted to do was drown in the way he was looking at me.
“How did you know I got in?” My voice shook, and I practically collapsed against him when he finally untangled himself from the cat so that he could get his arms around my waist.
I felt his lips touch the back of my head as he muttered, “I’ve been checking the mail for a few weeks and putting it back for you before you get back across the Bay. I knew the letter was coming and I wanted to surprise you.”
I let out something that might have been a whimper and rested my head on his shoulder. “You saw the letter, but you didn’t know it was an acceptance letter. What if I didn’t make it in the program?”
He chuckled and hugged me harder to his strong body. “I didn’t need to look to know it was an acceptance letter. I know you, Reed. I know hard you work. It wasn’t going to be anything other than a yes. That’s what you deserve.”
I turned in his embrace and threw my arms around his neck. He smelled of cigarettes and the disinfectant they used in the shop. I planted a wet, smacking kiss on his mouth and giggled when he hefted me up so that I could wrap my legs around his lean waist. He walked me backward until my ass hit the countertop and he wasted no time settling himself between my legs.
I ran my nose along the shell of his ear and whispered, “You’re going to make me cry.”
He pushed me back a little to work on pulling my shoes and jeans off and one of the vases of flowers went careening to the floor. He looked up at me from under his lashes, eyebrow cocked as that smirk I loved more than anything played around his mouth.
“I’m not the guy who makes you cry anymore, remember?”
That was a lie.
He did make me cry . . . all the time. Sometimes they were happy tears like the ones threatening now. Sometimes they were furious tears that burned and scalded when they ran down my face. Sometimes they were sad tears I couldn’t control when he still seemed lost and adrift. And sometimes they were a combination of all three because he overwhelmed me with all that he was and all that he brought into my life . . . both good and bad.
Once I was naked from the waist down, he yanked my t-shirt over my head and stripped my bra down my arms. When I was totally naked in front of him. he smiled and slid his talented hands over my collarbone. “I am the guy who makes you come repeatedly though. Only me.”
Well, that was true.
I pulled at his t-shirt and sighed when he dropped his jeans and seated himself between my legs once again. The head of his cock tapped my clit like it had a homing beacon, and my eyes rolled back in my head as I wound my arms around his neck and played with the soft, shaggy hair on the back of his head.
“You’re the guy who does both.”
He chuckled and lowered his head so he could touch his mouth to mine. “Can’t argue with that. I love you, Affton.”
I sniffed and then groaned as his teeth nipped at my lower lip. “I love you, too, Cable James McCaffrey.”
He kissed me to shut me up. I kissed him back to say thank you. He then proceeded to make me both come and cry as the flowers skidded across the counter.
Thank goodness I had made the right choice by picking the absolute wrong guy to love and perfect guy to hate.
IF I’M A new author to you, thank you for picking up Recovered.
If you loved Cable and Affton I strongly suggest you check out the rest of my New Adult titles, starting with the internationally bestselling Marked Men series.
Everything began with Rule:
www.jaycrownover.com/markedmenseries
Opposites in every way . . . except the one that matters
Shaw Landon loved Rule Archer from the moment she laid eyes on him. Rule is everything a straight-A pre-med student like Shaw shouldn’t want—and the only person she’s never tried to please. She isn’t afraid of his scary piercings and tattoos or his wild attitude. Though she knows that Rule is wrong for her, her heart just won’t listen.
To a rebel like Rule Archer, Shaw Landon is a stuck-up, perfect princess-and his dead twin brother’s girl. She lives by other people’s rules; he makes his own. He doesn’t have time for a good girl like Shaw-even if she’s the only one who can see the person he truly is.
But a short skirt, too many birthday cocktails, and spilled secrets lead to a night neither can forget. Now, Shaw and Rule have to figure out how a girl like her and a guy like him are supposed to be together without destroying their love . . . or each other.
If you know someone struggling with addiction and or depression, please don’t let them navigate that road on their own regardless of how bumpy it may get.
National Suicide Prevention Lifeline
Call 1–800–273–8255
Available 24 hours everyday
National Addiction Hotline
Call Now: 1–888–352–6072
If you made it this far thank you so much for reading Recovered! I would be so very grateful if you would leave a review on whatever platform you read, or listened to, this book on. A review, good or bad, is the best gift a reader can pass along to an author. It’s also a great way to see more of the books and characters you love!
OBVIOUSLY, I HAVE to thank the first guy who ever broke my heart. Without him, there would be no Cable. If he ever stumbles across this book, I’m sure I’ll get an earful . . . lol.
If you have purchased, read, reviewed, promoted, pimped, blogged about, sold, talked about, preached about, or whined about any of my books . . . thank you.
If you are part of my very special reader group The Crowd . . . thank you.
If you have helped me make this dream of mine a reality . . . thank you.
If you have helped make my words better and helped me share them with the world . . . thank you.
If you have held my hand and helped me through the tough times when it feels like everyone's against me . . . thank you.
I’m throwing out a random thanks to my mom in this one. She’s been reading Recovered in my newsletter along with all of you. I never let her meet the boy who inspired Cable because we were a mess and I didn’t know how to handle him and us when I was younger. She told me that she feels like she finally got to know him through this book, which was the ultimate compliment in my mind. If I made Cable real enough for her to recognize everything I felt back then, well, then I did my job right.
I also have a pretty special girl gang of professionals who help me turn my words into an actual book. First off is my amazing agent Stacey. Then there’s my PR guru KP Simmon, who makes sure I behave. And as always, my wonderful assistant Melissa Shank deserves a medal for putting up with me. I wouldn’t make it through a release or a regular ol’ day without this team of impressive women.
If you are looking for an editor, I can’t recommend Elaine York enough. I love getting to work with her. I adore her insights and her commitment to each project I send her way. She doesn’t pull any punches, and she’s not scared to tell me when I’m not quite there yet. She makes me work for it, and as a result, my readers get the best book possible. She immediately recognized Cable and Affton as people who I intimately knew and could tell this story came from somewhere real. I think that’s special. She’s smart as hell and has a way of seeing nuances in a story I’ll admit to never even thinking about. She’s also really good at pointing out when my characters magically lose clothes duri
ng the sexy scenes . . . lol. Unlike when I publish traditionally, I got to pick who I wanted to work with when it came to self-publishing. For me, Elaine was the only choice.
The same thing goes for Hang Le and Donya Claxton. Hang was my one and only choice to work with when it came to my covers. She’s brilliant. I love her style and her flare. She takes what I want and makes it better than I could imagine. Pretty sure her beautiful covers do more to sell my books than anything I do. Donya found and captured the perfect Cable. I sent her an idea and she took her special skills and sent me the magic of the perfect picture.
If you want the pages and the guts of your book to be pretty, then you need to hit up my friend, Christine Borgford. She’s one of the kindest, most supportive humans I’ve ever met, and not just because she’s Canadian! She really loves books, romance, and the reading community. She wants our words to be as pretty as possible. Formatting is important. End of story. It makes your book look pulled together and professional. Let Christine play with your pages; you won’t regret it.
My friend, Beth Salminen, handled all my copy edits and proofreading this go around. Beth is wicked smart and super funny. The only thing better than writing books is getting to work on them with people who care about making your words the best they can be. It’s a bonus when that person also wants the writer to be the best she can be. If you are looking for a pretty blonde to cross your t’s and dot all your i’s, you need to give Beth all your money.
Recovered Page 25